Ted Strong's Motor Car eBook

However, the Indian was not aware of it, for Dick
had a way of keeping his feelings to himself, and
he seldom showed whether he was surprised or angry,
although he never hesitated to let his friends know
his pleasure at their kindness, or gratitude for what
they did for him.

He was looking at the Indian steadily, taking stock
of him, and this is what he saw: A broad, dirty
face, in which burned two small, narrow eyes.
The cheek bones were prominent, and on each one was
a spot of red paint. The long, black, coarse
hair was braided with pieces of otter fur, and covered
with an old cavalry cap, in which was stuck a crow’s
wing feather, and around his neck hung a small, round
pocket mirror attached to a red string, by way of
ornament.

The Indian wore a dirty cotton shirt and a pair of
brown overalls, and his feet were covered with green
moccasins, decorated with small tubes of tin, which
jingled every time he took a step.

A belt and holster hung at his hip, and the handle
of a Colt forty-four was within easy reach.

“White papoose where go?” asked the Indian,
showing a row of sharpened teeth.

“Hunt coyote,” replied Dick, in a voice
that trembled.

“Heap fool. No catch coyote,” said
the Indian, reaching over and lifting Dick’s
Remington from the saddle.

He sighted it, turned it around in his hand, and then
coolly slung it over his shoulder.

“Here, give that to me,” said Dick sturdily.
With this act of theft all his courage came back to
him. No dirty Indian should have the rifle Stella
had given him.

But the Indian only grinned.

“Me heap brave,” said the Indian.
“Me Pokopokowo.”

He looked at Dick as if he expected the boy to be
deeply impressed.

“I don’t care who you are. I want
my rifle,” cried Dick.

“Papoose heap fool. Get off pony.”
The Indian was scowling now, and looked very ferocious,
and once more Dick’s courage oozed. The
Indian did not seem to be a bit frightened.

As Dick was slow in descending from the saddle, the
Indian grasped him by the arm and jerked him to the
ground.

Dick was as angry as he ever got, but was sensible
enough to know that he could not fight the Indian,
and that all he could do was to escape as rapidly
as possible.

He turned and ran up the coulee.

But he had not gone far when he was overtaken, and
knocked flat with a cuff on the side of the head.
As he rose slowly with his head ringing, Pokopokowo
grasped him by the shoulder, and bound his hands behind
him.

In a moment he was back at the pony’s side,
and was thrown upon its back, but not in the saddle.
This was occupied by the Indian, who directed it down
the coulee, and in the direction of the mountains.